Jarred potential, our lass bears.
But pressure keeps that lid firmly sealed.
Whenever oxygen creeps in and cumbustion flairs,
She puts pressure upon the lid to have any iridesence killed.
Jarred potential, our lass stores.
But pressure keeps what's contained contained.
So, our precious girl will trundle forever more;
Her colourful stuffing will reside inside,
Though her extremities may seem plain.
Jarred potential's a thing our girl knows.
Her musings are cut short by those of us who 'care'.
So all of that potential's thrown to the throes
Of that jar she keeps just who knows where.